planting connection {self-portrait challenge}
There has been a running dialogue in my head with you today. I suppose it started with the smell of strawberries in the kitchen this morning. I started thinking about how anytime I would see you in the spring and early summer we always had strawberries. Because you would freeze them, I guess we had them whenever I visited. My mind wandered to memories of you all day. Maybe it is because the last time I saw you it was this week, three years ago. Does the mind subconsciously remember such things? This afternoon, as I sliced the strawberries before Jonny got home, I just thought about you and wondered how you are doing. Wondered where you are now. Just wondered. I keep thinking about how I have been drawn to the color green for the last year or so…longer than that now I guess. It is that nature green…that bright leafy, grass green that I seem to want to soak in. Though, I guess, I am drawn to all shades of it lately (as evidenced by my clothes and jewelry and the fabric I buy), but it is the grass green that seems to be important. It is the color that seems to be whispering "grow" to me. Maybe it is you whispering that word to me through this color. Through the leaves on the tulips all spring. Through the warm, thick grass in the backyard. Through the oregano that comes back each year in our little patch of "garden." Through the green of the plants I decided I had to plant late this evening. I was working late and decided that even though dusk was fast approaching, I just wanted to put those annuals into the pots and not wait another day. And, as I turned over the soil and moved it to the side to put them into the pots, I found myself talking to you again. Letting you know that even though I may not have your gardening abilities or that I do not love it to the extent you did, putting those plants in the soil in those pots helps me feel close to you. Helps me to feel a connection. Of course, it also makes my back hurt like hell. Goodness my back is the back of someone with sciatica. It felt good to just tell you about that too. Just like I was catching you up on my life as though we were talking as we used to. I started wondering if you used to wear gloves when you would plant things. I think so. I waited for an answer as I thought the question. Maybe you will remind me when I plant the herbs later this week. I told you that I thought you would have laughed at me out there wearing my wedding ring in all that soil and you would have shook your head in disbelief that I was planting things so late. But, then I had the thought that maybe you understood. You understood my need to feel this closeness. Our relationship has shifted. And, as I talked to you this evening, I felt this bit of space inside me that seemed to indicate that you understand. That there is just knowing now. And, that is okay.
It feels so good to talk to you. And, it wasn't a conversation filled with sobs or moments of literal heart ache. No, it was just me talking to you. Just me feeling connected.
(see more self-portraits at self-portrait challenge)
self-portrait, self-portrait challenge
Reader Comments (11)
This made me think that you were talking with your grandmother ... maybe because that is how I think of mine when I reach beyond the pain and try to communicate with her. Much peace, JP
bless this...
bless you...
bless green...
bless this beautiful connection...
i remember sitting in my brother's car one day, and i felt him there, so real and potent i could smell him.
"hello" i said. "how are you?"
just normal stuff you know. i told him about my day. voicing it out, into the air, the wind capturing the love and transporting where it needed to go.
When I first saw your photo--I thought, "I love that she's out there with her wedding ring in the dirt...beautiful." Then, I read your words...ever more beautiful. I hope you keep finding what you need in all of that green...
Love,
D.
it's so funny how memories have such a visceral way about them...that knowing you talk about. every year this time i feel a tugging in my soul...a memory that is rooted in smell or sense but no hard image. it is my nanas birthday - and since she has been gone, my soul remembers :) enjoy your connection! xo, mindy
This just makes me sigh, Liz. You sound...peaceful. I remember the many times I listened to your audio posts of poetry or guiding us through a breathing exercise and could almost hear you as you were "talking" there at dusk. Wishing you more of the same.
thank you for sharing your beautiful words...your beautiful unfolding journey with grief...
What a beautiful, serene, real conversation you had. Thank you for sharing it with us. I am sure that she is smiling lovingly down upon you, no matter when you plant or how you do it.
Love to you.xoxo
This was a very touching post. Very sweet and peaceful. It made me think of the years when I'd whisper to my most best friend who died many years ago. In big life moments I whisper to my dad, "Did you see that?" as I picture him watching my life from somewhere in the heavens...
Thanks for sharing this.
That's a beautiful post, Liz, and a lovely photo. Scents, colors, flavors, textures - they hold such memories.
I talk to my Grams all the time like this. She passed last March. She didn't garden but other things will trigger my thoughts of her daily.
I love that ask questions and wait for the answers. I believe they will come to you.
I think the mind does do that subconciously. Isn't that wonderful? I love this post. I love that whenever I drop by I feel depth.
xox